


Fears Unnamed

by dahl_face



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender, Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Action story, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesiac! Lance, Character Development-centric, Enemies to Friends, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Galran Empire is the equivalence of a mafia, Keith and Shiro are (adopted) brothers, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Lance's family - Freeform, M/M, Mafia Au - Alternate Universe, Multi, Slow Burn, Voltron Crew are the Police Force, Voltron becomes a real family to Lance, past sins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 01:06:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15652632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dahl_face/pseuds/dahl_face
Summary: Police Captain Takashi Shirogane is hesitant to explore the Galran warehouse- particularly when he and his brother find it eerily barren... Excluding the strange, mysterious boy with eyes too blue, beaten and bruised, lying in the center of it.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings: Shiro's Hero Complex, Homelessness Mention (Unrelated to Characters), Addiction Mention (Unrelated to Characters), Graphic Displays of Blood, Drug Mention, Gunshot

Dark, stormy eyes crossed over to meet violet, the two sharing a grim nod... They both knew what was at stake on this mission- which was, to say, a whole fucking lot.

Even within his head, Police Captain Takashi Shirogane scolded himself for that language... But, he supposed, when he was surrounded by people like Pidge and Keith almost twenty four seven- sometimes, during stakeouts, quite literally, something he is displeased to acknowledge- slip ups were inevitable in times of stress. And honestly, stress hardly began to describe it.

The amount of crime going on in this city was heart breaking, to Captain Shirogane. He saw it every day, walking through the street: the children who cried for parents he could not save, the women who warily eyed anyone who got too close, the disdain people held in their glances at the addicted homeless they pretended not to see... All because he could not stop it, the attacks, the murders, the drugs. Not without proof- hard, solid evidence. Believe him, he had tried.

The amount of times Chief Allura had to consolingly whisper that, despite the fact that it seemed so, so, so very obvious that the Galra Family was the root of it all, until they had proof, never failed to be maddening...

And the amount of times Adam held him in his arms, as though to help him carrying the crushing weight of all of their city, even just for a moment? Well, Shirogane tried not to think about that. Or the way that Hunk insisted on baking him food just to make sure he ate. Or the way that the entire Holt family seemed constantly ready to form an intervention if he didn't, quote, "get his fine ass to bed before he started falling apart, because fine or not, the corpse look was sooo two years ago." Matt's words, not his. And that wasn't even factoring in those violet eyes that pored into him, no words needed to convey concern, to swear loyalty.

Shit. Shirogane was losing it.

He shook his head lightly to clear his mind, ground him back to the present. He could reminisce and possibly tear himself down again later. Right now, he had a job to do, a job that might serve to finally- finally- be the light at the end of the tunnel. True, the informant had been vague, but if he was right, and this were truly a store house for the Galras' drugs?

Forget about catching them in one of their endless murders. That much "illicit substance" would be enough to put them away for a long, long, long time.

Shirogane could not wait.

Determination set in his gaze and he nodded once at his brother, who held his gun close to his chest, determination mirrored in violet eyes once again. 

One last deep breath... One last moment to collect himself, letting the calm settle over him... One last moment...

BAM! 

He wasted no time, kicking down the door in one, fluid move before bursting in, only to stop dead in his tracks.

When one thinks of a drug house, what do they think of? Perhaps a warehouse growing marijuana under bright florescent lights, or neat bags of powder wrapped cleanly and put in tight little rows until the next buyer was found.

This?

This was bizarre, even for his standards. And he was once woken up by Pidge using a small, pyramid shaped drone she dubbed "Rover" to prod his arm, only to grin in excitement when he woke up, proud to show off her latest gadget- not to mention the time Keith first started playing with his swords and his knives, losing his grip and almost giving Shiro a sudden, brand new haircut, one that may or may not have included a good portion of his temple. 

So believe Shirogane when he said he knew strange- but somehow, the word seemed to almost pale in comparison to the scene before him. 

True, the Police Force had received a tip off... But it seemed that the Galra had received a tip off as well, for where "product" must once have been, shelves were empty, the entire thing barren... And in the center of it all sat a scene so hauntingly beautiful, it belonged in the pages of a comic book somewhere. Maybe even some kind of show.

Fine white powder dusted upon the ground, the first frost of an oncoming winter, gentle and refined in it's stillness. It would have been beautiful, perhaps, had it not been for the frightful knowledge of what it truly was, and the small figure curled up in the center, red staining outward from its head in a chaotic pool, interrupting the magical winterland they appeared to stumble upon.

Almost transfixed, Shirogane found himself taking slow steps closer, kneeling down beside him, feeling his neck for- thank God- the pulse that was still there, jittery, perhaps, maybe a bit weakened, but still present.

"He's alive," Shirogane called over his shoulder, though his brother seemed preoccupied in securing the area. (He appreciated his caution, but the warehouse had been gutted and abandoned, that much was clear... Save for the boy curled up, looking like he was in a nightmare... Right until eyes opened, unfocused and clouded like the sky on a spring day as clouds lazily drifted about. 

Instantly, Keith was on him, pulling Shiro away and hauling him behind him, yelling so the world could hear: "Get away from him! You don't know whose side he's on." 

Shiro merely shook his head, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder to calm him, feeling the tenseness that lied underneath... All over a boy who seemed ready to drift back into unconsciousness at any moment. Still, he supposed, Keith had a point. They were in enemy territory, and who knew what kind of traps the Galra might set? Better men than he had doubtlessly fallen for traps half so eloquent as this. 

"Who are you?" Keith nearly growled- had he been baring his teeth, Shirogane would not be surprised. His eyes stayed on the stranger, never lowering his gun, even as the stranger slowly eased himself into a sitting position, blinking sluggishly at them, as though in a lecture for a class he simply could not understand. 

The strange man looked around slowly, trying to make sense of it, and Keith repeated it: "Who are you? Answer me, now!" (If there was ever any question as to whether he was growling before, it could not stand after that.)

"That's the thing," the man answered after a moment, shrugging his shoulders and wincing at the motion- Shirogane would have to get him to a medic, if that head injury and the way he winced indicated anything at all. "I... I don't know."

Keith scoffed at that, seeming to line up his gun even further in a way that made the man's tan skin drain of color. "Who are you?" He repeated again, only to jump at the touch of his own brother- Shiro's hand was back on his shoulder, the way he only did if he were trying to placate him, nonverbally calming him enough to think.

Indeed, if there were a nonverbal 'Patience yields focus, Keith,' Keith was certain it would be that stupid fucking shoulder touch.

He hated that fucking shoulder touch. 

"What is it, Shiro?" Keith all but snarled, shrugging him off with ease. Shiro didn't comment on being shrugged off, his eyes staring intently into the almost sky blue eyes of the boy before them.

"I think he's telling the truth," Shiro replied softly, and for the first time, Keith met the eyes of the stranger, frightened and confused and almost... Empty.

Fuck.

He was right.

Slowly, slowly, the gun lowered... At the same speed, the stranger's shoulders lowered, cautiously beginning to relax into the moment...

Hardly a moment seemed to pass before big blue eyes widened at something behind the pair, and, too slow, Shirogane turned to see a masked figure waiting in the beams and balances upon the rooftop, gun in hand, aiming, aiming, aiming...

Firing, bullet aimed directly for Keith's head.

Shirogane's heart stilled even as his mind raced into overdrive, falling into a messy strand of cusses as everything seemed to jump into startling amounts of detail, rushing to do something, to rush, to jump in action, to just, please, for the love of God, not let this moment become one of the things that kept him up at night, another weight weighing him down, sinking him into his own hell. 

Frantically, he spun on his heel, but try though he might, he could not seem to beat the bullet as it flew through the air- there was not time, there was no time, time seemed to stop entirely, leaving only the guttural cry that wrenched itself from his throat, deep and panicked and so, so afraid.

What he could not do, however, the blue eyed stranger found a way, launching himself into the air- actually, he must have done it before, the moment he saw the shooter, before Shirogane even had the chance to process any of it-, taking the bullet for Keith.

And opposed to how the time seemed to flow too quickly before, it seemed to come to a complete halt now. 

If a pin had dropped, you would have heard it- it would have been the only sound in the entire warehouse... Save the pained and labored breaths of the strange boy with the bright blue eyes, collapsed on the floor, clutching his abdomen as Keith rushed forward, almost moving in slow motion as shock blurred Shirogane's mind, mind's eye sharpening in like a camera finding its focus... Perhaps that was why, Shirogane could not miss seeing something flashing in his brother's eyes that not even he could read. 

The part of his mind working so excellently on prioritizing the tasks at hand- almost hawk like in its ferocious focus- stored the knowledge away for another time. There were more important things at hand.

As though some higher power or vengeful spirit possessed him, Shirogane made up for lost time, flowing into the action as he pivoted on his heel to face the masked figure, who grinned wolfishly down at them, shots going rapid fire away even a the masked man turned and fled, using the support beams as a shield... And Keith's angry, rushed murmurs to the blue eyed man forced Shirogane to turn to the pair, letting their assailant get away. 

Priorities. Priorities. Priorities.

"You're gonna be alright- Shiro- you're going to be alright- Shiro, fuck, help me out here- you're going to be be alright," Keith whispered tensely, clutching the stranger to his chest- all towards a man he had held at gunpoint so fiercely not five minutes before... And Blue Eyes seemed to want to say something as Shiro bent down and moved into autopilot, his little medical training being stretched as far as it could as he almost robotically ripped off a piece of his shirt, holding it against the wound... Not enough, a part of him whispered, as time dredged on, dragging its heels, as though a small child, sad to see the stranger go.

Even as Shiro pressed the cloth against the wound, red continued to spread out, through the cloth, to the floor around them, and clouded eyes grew cloudier, duller.

Just like that, he was gone, again, diving back into the world of the unconscious... 

Leaving Shiro and Keith to sort out this mess.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the mysterious blue eyed man wakes up in a hospital, he finds a lot of his answers to his questions...  
> So why is it he is only left with more questions begging to be answered? And what will he do when he finds a woman who claims to have the answers he so craves?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Confusion, Disassociation, Disorientation, Medical Terminology, Memory Loss, Spanglish

When the blue eyed man woke up, things were sort of a blur. 

A nurse that was far too perky was there, spewing dialogue at a rate that made his head spin, even as he grinned weekly at her- and if he were in a better place, he would have complimented the pin in her hair or suggest that, wow, if she was his nurse, he'd never stop getting injured, but his head pounded and his lips were chapped, and honestly, he was still... 'Fairly' confused about how he had gotten here in the first place.

Not long after, a stern doctor with a pale mustache that seemed to dictate his face came in and hurled terms at him- "head injury" and "trauma" and "dislocated shoulder" and  "bullet wound" and "amnesia"and "blood loss" and "drastic dehydration" and a whole lot more that he didn't quite absorb.

Alright, he can admit it. He didn't pay attention throughout all of it, but hey, that mustache was distracting, what could he say?

It was alright- they wrote it all up on a chart at the foot of the bed, a declaration to all who entered, and it was kind of surprising the amount that entered- it was a steady stream.  
.............................................................................................................................................................  
At first, a lot of hopeful people entered in hopes of finding the right John Doe- which, believe him, hurt like he couldn't express, the way his mere existence seemed to disappoint. Somehow, it didn't feel all that new to him.   
..............................................................................................................................................................  
Next was some sort of agent, reporting his identity- Lance McClain, he had called him, and Lance had visibly relaxed. Ever since he had woken up in this hospital bed, tired and drowsy and doubtlessly high off of whatever pain medicine they had him on, nothing had felt quite... Right. Everything seemed off, fishy, shady, wrong. Hearing his name was the first thing that had felt right in what felt like a long time, though he was sure it had only been a few days.

"You were reported missing at the age of sixteen," the agent reported, sharp eyes prodding at him, and Lance froze, confusion spiking through him. "Your current state points to kidnapping." 

The words made his blood run cold, and he found himself looking away just so he would not have to meet the agent's eyes, the questions within. He wanted to answer him, somehow, to agree or negate the answer, but his head was uncooperative, and the harder he searched his mind, the more his head pounded and throbbed.

It wasn't long until the nurse came in, hitting a button that sent in an onslaught of pain killers, dragging Lance back under the waves and into unconsciousness. 

The last thing he heard before he was pulled into a deep, dreamless sleep was her scolding the agent. "He's an amnesiac, you can't just expect answers like that!" She had shouted at the man before slamming the door behind her, despite his protests that he hadn't 'asked' anything, effectively locking the agent out.

In the back of his mind, he seemed to cheer. He got pretty damned lucky with this nurse, didn't he?  
................................................................................................................................................................  
The next time he woke up, there was a sobbing woman on his chest, and Lance had the distinct thought of 'What the actual quiznak?' He didn't get to think much more before an angry slap sounded, hard against his cheek.

He looked up in awe, eyes settling on a heavier woman with untameable curls who tickled at his memory- he should know who this is. He should. He should know who this is. So who on earth was it?

"Lance McClain, how, how dare you!" The woman shouted in a voice that boomed, and he flinched into himself, wondering what this woman planned to do next, right as her face crumpled into tears, crowding in next to the other woman holding him, wrapping around him in a way that felt so, so, so familiar that it hurt, aching at his chest and begging that he remember- why can't he remember? "Do you know how much your mami y tu familia missed you?" 

The woman's voice sounded so small compared to earlier, and Lance was ashamed of the slight relief that flowed through him at the answer to his question, though it quickly overpowered by shame. 

After all, he thought as the woman- his mami- held him tight, whispering the words "Mi hijo, mi hijo, mi hijo precioso, te extrañé mucho" over and over over again, ever so weakly, ever so brokenly... What kind of son forgets his own mother?

As he looked around, he thought the rest must have been other family members, based on the way they held onto each other, not seeming to believe he was there. 

Tentatively, he reached down and put a gentle hand on his mother's shoulder. "It's okay, Mama. It's okay. I'm here." 

"Mi hijo," she answered, looking up with reddened eyes. "Why on earth did you run away?"   
..............................................................................................................................................................  
As time progressed, Lance quickly got reacquainted with a fairly crucial part of his personality, he thought: the part that hated to be still. In the hospital, he was told to be still, to be quiet. And he hated it. 

In the quiet, the stillness, his mind kept returning to the emptiness where his memories should have been, questioning everything. He did not understand- the agent said he was kidnapped, his mother said he had run away, and everything in between was a blank space... So how on earth did he get in the warehouse? And why on earth had he taken that bullet?

Again, he searched the barren fields of his mind, and again, his search turned up empty.

It was official. He really, really hated the silence.  
.................................................................................................................................................................  
His savior came in an unexpected form: a tanned woman with long white hair, coming with the other man who had been at the warehouse, the big muscled one with the strange arm, the one who had tried to hear him out, fought in his defense.

"Lance, isn't it?" The man asked, keeping his voice low and calm as though approaching an injured animal, one that risked going feral and attacking if he were too quickly approached or maddened, glancing at the clipboard on the foot of the bed. "I'm Captain Takashi Shirogane, you remember me, right?"

"That's me," Lance replied with a weak smile, wary eyes going over the pair, wondering if they would be half as hostile as the other one of his "saviors" he remembered. 

Reassured, Shiro offered him a smile, gesturing to the woman at his side. "This is Allura, Chief of the Police Force. She was hoping to speak to you, ask you some questions, if that might be alright." 

"I don't know much," Lance protested- it wasn't that he didn't want to help them, but he was growing tired of all these questions- the questions that he asked himself, let alone the endless questions that others hurled at him- that he did not have the answers to.

"Mr. McClain- may I call you Mr. McClain?" The woman- Allura- asked, the words sounding pretty and foreign in her accent. Lance immediately decided he wanted to hear her speak more. 

"You can call me whatever you'd like," Lance replied, and the words felt natural, allowing him to give a grin- though it still felt shaky, as most things did... Even if her smile grew infinitely more forced, as though she were mentally counting to ten to keep her patience.

"In that case, Mr. McClain," Allura replied, pointedly keeping up the polite formality in a way that made Lance let out a chuckle. "I have only one question for you."

Lance tilted his head in curiosity at her, curious as to how she could possibly resolve all the questions Shiro seemed to want in one, single question. Unless it was if she could ask an infinite amount of questions, but somehow, he could sense that wasn't quite her sense of humor. Also, he wondered if she even had a sense of humor.

"How would you like to get your memory back?"

Lance's head almost whipped up at that, and his mind set to racing.

"Alright," he replied slowly. "You've got my attention."


End file.
